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Meredith holds her breath for three days after that. Not literally, of course, just the figurative walking-on-eggshells one does after a major faux pas.
Ill-suited to such concerns, it's the longest three days of her life. The first few hours crawl by like years as she waits for the news to arrive. When it doesn't, she suspects he's taking the day to think it over, find a way to make the decision gracefully. It isn't as if he can just ship her to Russia, therefore it must be handled delicately.
Which, she then decides, means he's discussing it with Elizabeth. Meredith remembers that meeting. The strategy for dealing with personality conflicts three galaxies away from any potential help. She and Sumner had dismissed Elizabeth's concerns.
The irony does not escape Meredith's notice.
In all likelihood, she'll just be reassigned. Possibly remove herself from fieldwork. Elizabeth will invite her to dinner, they'll drink some of the wine Elizabeth smuggled in with her, they'll bond and then Elizabeth will suggest it. She'll be regretful, but convincing. Sheppard will be no where in sight.
He's not one for awkward confrontations. He's been avoiding her for days. He won't be able to look her in the eye and throw her off his team.
No, asking Elizabeth to handle it is the best option. Best for them both. Elizabeth's good enough to make Meredith believe it's her own idea. She's halfway there already. As the senior scientist on this mission, the idea of her venturing into the field is ludicrous at best. Sam always said she didn't have a 'feel' for these things and Meredith's beginning to wonder if she might be right.
She doesn't belong in the field. She lives for her theories. She belongs with them, in a lab, with a laptop. She has no business running across alien plants, clutching a gun she can barely aim and praying she won't blow someone's head off by mistake.
It isn't as if they're short on replacement candidates. She's even weeded a few potentials from the masses. The little Czech, Zelenka, she needs in the lab. He has the natural aptitude that she lacks, but there are others. All of which, she's sure, would make a much better fit on Sheppard's team than she does.
Yes, it's the best possible outcome for all concerned. Not that it makes anything better. The guilt about her misstep hasn't gone anywhere. It's not even the slightest bit swayed by the pile of resumes on her desk.
This used to be something she was proud of, irrational as it might seem. She's saved herself the misery of a thousand slowly dying friendships with a few well-placed words. Easier. Safer. Almost like pulling off a band aid.
It hurts less. At least, it's supposed to. She can't understand why it isn't working this time.
#
"You're kind of a bitch, you know that, right?"
Surprised by the unexpected voice crackling her ear, Meredith jumps with a yelp. The reward for her reaction is a stinging smack against the back of her head.
Ouch.
The headset is taking some getting used to. It's bad enough it makes her ear sore, but the constant interruptions are maddening. If she were anyone else, it would be a minor miracle that she gets any work done at all.
When Sheppard is involved, of course, it's no minor miracle. No, in that case, even with her presence, it is a major one.
Meredith sits back, folding her legs as she glares balefully at the escaped stylus. She should just glue the damn thing to her hand -- "McKay?"
Sheppard's voice, this time, is almost hesitant. It's a complete switch around and it makes her head spin. It's the first thing he's said to her in three days, outside of noncommittal grunts in briefings, purely for Elizabeth's benefit. It's ridiculous how she reacts. She should be furious. She should be taking his head off. No one talks to her like that and gets away with it.
Yet her heart beats faster, her mouth goes dry, and her hand moves, hovering with indecision against the headset. It could be an emergency, her mind whirls with all the possibilities, but she knows that it's not.
She also knows it's not what she wants it to be. Meredith's been waiting for this and she has to give him credit. At least he didn't have Elizabeth do it.
Gathering up her dignity, clinging to it like a stuffed toy, Meredith responds, "I'm here, Major, and, to answer your question, yes, I am perfectly aware." She goes to her knees, finally clasping the stylus in her hand. "Thank you for the attempt at a reminder, however."
She's not prepared for the sound of her own voice. She sounds almost – hurt. Odd. It isn't as if he hasn't told her anything that she didn't already know. He might as well have told her the sky is blue. "Is there anything else we can clarify before we finish this?"
He sighs, the sound in her ear raising goose flesh and sending a shiver through her. This is the part she hates about these headsets. Well, one part. The complete lack of privacy is an irritation, but the odd sense of intimacy is another. She can almost feel his body's heat pressing against hers.
Her cheeks warm and she clutches the stylus tighter.
"Look, McKay, I -- " he hesitates. "I didn't mean – that is, I didn't intend on -- "
"Please, Major," says Meredith, her nerves pushing a biting edge into her voice. She doesn't mean to sound so derisive, but she clings to it anyway. It's familiar and safe and, cowardice or not, she needs it right now. "We both know that you did. It's fine. It's hardly as if it's some great revelation at any rate. I'm well aware of the effect I have on some. Now, as to the matter of my replacement, there are a number of possibilities. Some of them don't have much in the way of field experience, but then, let's be honest, I didn't either and -- "
"Hang on, what?" asks Sheppard, incredulous. "McKay, what the hell are you talking about?"
The surprise is so genuine that Meredith doesn't quite know what to say next. Instead, she's left stammering, "Well, I – I thought -- "
"Oh for fuck's sake, where are you?" Sheppard cuts her off, anger fueling his impatience. She doesn't need to see his face to know he's angry. The peculiar part of it all, though, is that he doesn't really seem angry at her.
Not that she can tell. As pedantic as it can be, she's never had much use for psychoanalysis. She's not interested in deciphering the psychological ins and outs of John Sheppard's mind. Not that anyone could. She's beginning to believe he could make Freud cry.
Meredith looks at her desk and the paperwork scattered across it without really seeing any of it. Not the faces in the pictures or the names on the pages. "My office, actual office, not the lab, I needed to -- " She needed to fix this and it's still a wonder that she cares.
"Stay there. I'm coming to you."
He sounds so determined that hope flares. Maybe, just maybe, she was actually wrong. She's never wanted to be before.
Well, just that one time, but Teal'c's life was hanging in the balance then. It's hardly the same thing really. This is just a job and one, all things considered, she probably shouldn't be doing anyway. She's far too important to be wasted in the field, but --
But she can't imagine any other life and isn't that the biggest surprise of it all?
"Major, I -- "
"Don't. Move," insists Sheppard. "Don't argue with me. Just sit there and wait. Don't go playing with any Ancient shit either. I swear to God, McKay, I show up there and something's glowing -- "
"I won't." Meredith sits. "I promise."